


I Look For You in Everyone

by HeavyHearts



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Complicated Relationships, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mercy76, Multi, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn, character exploration, mercykill - Freeform, ot3 kinda, r76
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 09:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8744458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeavyHearts/pseuds/HeavyHearts
Summary: "You must love in such a way that the person you love feels free.”― Thich Nhat HanhPre-canon exploration of the relationships between Angela, Gabriel and Jack leading to the fall of Overwatch.





	1. GROUNDED

**Author's Note:**

> I am not a writer, but my love for these characters propelled me through what ever this word vomit this is. *hearts*

The day was still young when they set out. Blackwatch agents gathered about a personnel transport in the hanging darkness of the morning. A small strip of blue sky threatened the distant horizon as light began to penetrate it, hugging the outline of the tall mountains that loomed over Overwatch’s Swiss HQ. Whistling gusts of wind whipped across the tarmac, bombarding the group. It washed over the hushed chatter between the soldiers as they loaded their gear and boarded the craft from the large aft door.

This mission was fairly standard, but slightly unorthodox for Blackwatch. Strike Commander Morrison had ordered the group to assist operations out of Monaco, France while they were en route to a task in Egypt. Blackwatch Commander Reyes had begrudgingly agreed to the OP – showing concern that the assist would only fatigue his troops before a much more important task. Morrison countered that the small Omnic cell should be easily quelled, and it would good for publicity. Something that was in dire need since an accidental data spillage had gotten to the media, and the public’s alerting interest in Blackwatch had begun to emerge.

Angela Ziegler felt hopefully out of place among unfamiliar faces. It had been little over two years since she had joined the Overwatch’s combat task force and this was going to be, what seemed like, her hundredth insertion… But the first aiding the covert operating Blackwatch division.

Angela looked across the troop laden drop ship. The lights had dimmed for the flight after takeoff and the almost eerie red glow of the flight lights clung to the features of the people harnessed in around her. Most of the other passengers had seemed to nod off shortly after takeoff. She had to admit that she had come to appreciate the seasoned soldier’s seemingly unique ability to clock out whenever they got the chance to shut their eyes.

She pondered to herself, adjusting the Valkyrie armor’s neck opening. For this mission Torbjörn had outfitted her brilliant white armor with a matte grey-black hue. Angela couldn’t help but appreciate the stark difference to her typical brilliant white. She grinned momentarily, thinking about how some operatives had gawked at her when she arrived that morning in the new uniform shade, she had felt almost edgy, cool.

The fleeting thought amused her, but her logical side reminded her the color served a functional purpose too. Instinctively she reached into her pack to check her personal data pad, making absolutely sure the mission’s details were committed to memory. When satisfied, she looked over her personal inventory, noting the amount of ammunition she had packed for her Caduceus pistol. Years ago Angela had initially protested her personal armament, but enough close encounters had changed her position in that manner.

Gabriel Reyes sat in the bucket seat next to her, jaw set as he looked out straight across the bay, his expression firm. She imagined he was mulling over the mission's activities as well – he always seemed to have a lingering aura of stress about him. It probably didn’t help that she was there. He had called her a liability before, but the UN Security Council had new ideas for Mercy, and insisted she tag along with the covert ops group. They had briefed the expectation for low-causalities with Mercy’s help on this detour. One more complication for him to mitigate. They were testing her ability, and his division’s ability to collaborate.

Her sharp blue eyes studied him in the dim light, and she noted how the hard shadows brought out his intense features. Angela couldn’t help but admire the rugged handsomeness of the man. Despite thunderous attempts to appeal her enthusiasm for this mission, Reyes had ensured to personally oversee Angela’s pre-mission briefing and even cracked a smile when she took the seat next to him.

As if he knew he was being watched, his eyes darted over and brief eye contact was made. “Everything good Doc?” He spoke quietly, keenly aware that she had been watching him, maybe bemused by it.

The carrier ship lurched slightly, cabinets and gear rattling as she looked away quickly, feeling almost embarrassed for being caught staring like that, she certainly didn’t mean to stare. She thought a moment before she spoke, gathering something eloquent to break the silence, internally practicing what to say. “You soldiers seem to be at home in these moments, calm and collected before the mission. I admit, even after these years, it makes me nervous. An operation room is my province, not a battlefield.”

That made him chuckle darkly and he eyed the data pad in her hand.

“I’m reminded of my early days in practice, when I was very young, and only in residency – book study can only go so far.” She fanned the tablet like device in her hand for emphasis. “I... I know I’m a _liability_ ,” the word he had used before had a sting to it, but by admitting it she felt some kind of ownership.

“You’ve always picked up on stuff fast Doc. You’ll find our rhythm.” He said.

She nodded and sat back in her seat, over thinking made her feel less confident. She hated feeling unsure, was frankly, unaccustomed to it.

He watched her, recalling the several rants he had overheard since meeting the Doctor on her first day. Angela had made it very obvious that she was a pacifist in nature. But he admired the fact, despite it all, she insisted on coming on every combat mission she was available for. Admired that despite the nature of Blackwatch and what little she knew, she had agreed to accompany his team today no matter how unorthodox the suggestion had been by some big-wig UN officials.

“We don’t operate quite like the missions you’ve ran, but I know you’ve been running the recommended drills and scenarios I sent you.” He shifted in his seat, stretching his shoulders, “this is a low risk mission, so I do not anticipate much trouble. Focus on your tasks, and you’ll do fine.” He noted her expression softened some, but knew his men operated differently, knew part of her efficiency came from interpreting her colleagues, knowing them.

“Show my guys who the hell Mercy is.”

A moment of silence hung in the air until it was cut by the pilot’s communication channel, “10 minutes ETA, insertion will be hot.”

That didn’t seem to do it, so Gabriel leaned over, the harness pulling taught over his chest. He grabbed her hand for a brief moment, ensuring they made eye contact. He didn’t say another word as his hand squeezed firmly, but his features relaxed enough to show some reassurance. A couple of agents across the bay watched their interaction with peaked interest. Angela felt her cheeks grow warm after his hand dropped away, and smiled to herself, the touch forced her to get out of her head-space and she felt inspired.

 

* * *

 

Young Jesse McCree’s face held a look of anguish as he shouldered the weight of the figure across his back. He was emerging fast from the left flank of the battle space, feet carrying him from a skinny alleyway and yelling what seemed like nonsense towards a friendly barricade. Blood covered his forearm that secured the black-clad women propped up in a fireman’s carry. Angela, Mercy, was unconscious and bleeding, a lot. Suddenly, McCree paused in his steps, turned and fired off two precise shots into the alley, his composure switching so rapidly, it appeared she didn’t weigh a thing. He had been approaching the allied lines that skirted the city center, but was forced to return fire when he realized how many bullets were still zipping past his ears. Luckily, his draw was true and the enemy’s fire ceased, if only momentary.

A fellow Blackwatch agent who had been alerted by Jesse’s yelling darted with his squad from the primary barricade a dozen meters ahead. They laid suppressing fire as the squad leader called for immediate medical assistance. Overwatch forces had been requested for backup almost immediately into the operation when Commander Reyes had realized UN intelligence had failed to report the true size of the Omnic uprising. The Overwatch ground forces had concentrated on establishing a defensive line upon a small rocky outcropping overlooking the French city, and Jesse had almost made it there on his own, despite the circumstances.

He turned in time to be greeted spatially by the squad, and promptly dropped his knees into a squat. The group of men formed a protective circle, and erected an energy shield as he peeled Angela off his shoulder. She was still unconscious and Jesse’s stomach knotted to see so much of her blood drip away. It was usually the other way around. In fact it seemed like the times he had tagged along with Reyes, when the Commander went to visit the Doc, she was usually elbow deep in someone’s chest cavity. At least that’s what it seemed like… He couldn’t stop thinking about how Reyes would personally see to his demise if they lost her here, now.

He unfolded her limp body onto the moist grass, taking care to support the back of her head and neck as he did so. The large gash across her breast began to pool bright crimson now that they weren’t moving, the liquid stark against the curled opened edges of her Valkyrie armor. His head raced and he tossed the cowboy hat from his brow, pressing an ear into the opposite breast of the wound, listening carefully… He heard faint breaths, but no hissing, no staggering. It sounded steady, weak, but good. He didn’t know how to properly take a pulse with her armor in the way, wished he did, and wished he’d remember what a good heart rate should even be. _Shit. Where’s the medic?!_ The Blackwatch squad leader barked into a communicator above him, and his team continued to lay out cover fire.

He recalled the combat aid and self-care seminars Doctor Ziegler had required they all attend, and thanked his lucky stars he had stayed awake for the segment that discussed torso injuries. She had forced them to watch holo-vids of sucking chest wounds, wounds that collapse lungs and kill victims almost as fast as bleed-outs. He sat up, instinctively patting his pockets, looking for something to shield the gaping hole, looking for the medics.

They arrived momentarily, entering the protection of the electric blue shield. The head medic shouldered Jesse out of the way, immediately administering a can of biofoam to close and protect the wound after a quick visual assessment. He wore Overwatch colors and aggressively barked orders at two soldiers carrying a stretcher behind him.

Jesse was suddenly displaced, wholly aware of his bare head and the lack of pistol in his hand. The young man then stood, enraged and feeling vengeful for the harm done to Angela. A deft hand replaced his firearm into his empty fingers and in a sweep, Jesse McCree raced from the protective bubble, pressing his hat to his brow as he reentered the battle.

 

* * *

 

White hot pain blossomed from her chest, she wanted to cough, needed to cough. Her chest retracted but there came no satisfaction, only more pain, choking. Tubing occupied her airways, prevented the instinctual reaction.

Angela drifted into consciousness, but the pain dominated what little she grasped to. Did I get hurt? She couldn’t recall a thing. Pain. She quelled the coughing sensation and wanted to sit up, nothing worked.

“Easy!” She heard a familiar voice. Her eyes fluttered through strained tears, and she saw a tall figure at her bedside, he hovered above her but hesitated to touch. “Easy Ang.” Everything was too bright and white, her eyes closed tight.

Jack. She fought her tangled awareness, became suddenly alert of her racing heartbeat, the sound of it beeping out of the series of machines next to her beside, the pull of the IV tube, needle and tape at her forearm. She felt his hand, large on her bicep, applying gentle pressure to keep her from pulling the peripheral catheter clear out of her skin. His touch felt warm, familiar. She focused and it only lapsed momentarily by the poke of an air needle at her neck. The administered medication routed her blood stream with each quick pump of her heart and the alleviation of pain was instant and almost euphoric.

“That’s it,” she heard him say gently. “Will this knock her back out immediately, or can she hear me?”

The nurse who must have administered the relaxer was moving around the room quickly, Angela heard the familiar sound of a digital clipboard leaving the bedside cubby, “she’ll remain somewhat conscious for just a few minutes.” She said.

A few moments past, and the Doctor acknowledged hearing her own heart rate slow, it became more stable. The pain drifted completely away and was replaced by a light-headed feeling, numbing fatigue, ebbing on causing her nausea. She concentrated on the familiar sounds of the hospital to keep conscious.

“Ang, you’re back at Swiss HQ.” Jack breathed, he still stood at her side, his hand gripped her arm gently, thumb moving back and forth against the exposed skin under the cuff of the hospital gown. Her own hand gripped open and closed weekly at the sheets of the ICU bed.

She strained to open her eyes again, it took a moment, and everything was still too bright, she felt too tired. Eventually she forced them open enough, wanting to see something familiar. Jack marveled that while her eyes were tired and red, it brought the sapphire blue out even more brilliantly. Tears broke their thresholds and rolled down her cheeks and he frowned deeply.

The relaxer she was administered accelerated her exhaustion, and the nurse injected something into her IV line. Angela’s tired eyes pulled closed and soon she was whisked away into a drugged, dreamless sleep.

Jack Morrison watched her for a moment more then sat back into the rolling stool he had been occupying for hours. The nurse fluttered around the room, eyeing him side-long as she answered her communicator, “Dr. Ziegler has stabilized, Commander Morrison is still occupying the room,” she paused and continued to tell the night desk what drugs she had administered while updating the digital database. When she was satisfied with modifications she stood in front of the man.

“We usually don’t make exceptions with visitors in the ICU.” She glanced over to Angela, her face saddened and became gentle, brows pulled up with concern, “but I can make an exception for our Doctor.”

Morrison nodded, meeting her worried expression with a slight smile, the most reassuring he could muster. The nurse returned his smile with her own, eyes lingering on Angela as she quietly ducked out of the room, leaving the two alone.

The steady beat of the EKG and breathing machines filled the room with a solemn, but steady atmosphere as he sat there at her side. His hand finally released her arm and he dragged it over his face, as if he could pull the languor from it with one heavy swipe. He was tired too, it had been a long day.

He remembers reading the mission report. All had gone to plan, the Blackwatch team had inserted behind enemy lines and had begun to push the last opposition out of hiding. Angela was reported being seen sprinting, and then gliding, to aid a pinned Blackwatch agent – it is said that mid-air she was met with a mighty blow to the chest. A large omnic unit wielding an ungainly axe like weapon had caught her trajectory, and as Jesse McCree’s testimony states: “had the streetlamp not broken the initial part of the blow, she might have be cleaved damn near in two.”

You can’t account for everything in battle. His palm moved up and through his now messy blonde hair. Jack was in no Strike-Commander like state. He had be catching up on much needed sleep when the medical evac had arrived, and had been awake since. He donned his fatigue’s undershirt and an old pair of sweats from his days in the Solider Enhancement Program. God I probably reek. _Had it been 20 hours? 30?_

Angela was an incredible asset to Overwatch, and a very close friend. It was horrible to see her like this. Most team members had come to visit, but Jack was surprised Gabriel hadn’t stopped by. He had heard when the Blackwatch Commander had learned of the accident on the field, he damn near ripped his communicator in two. He had wasted no time, immediately submitting a report to ground her from accompanying Blackwatch ever again. He was back from Egypt by now, doubt he was sleeping either. Angry report filing? _Is that how we cope now days?_ Jack thought.

Morrison knew he was hurting too, Gabriel cared for her more than he’d admit. Maybe he blames himself, had technically had the authority to re-task her once the transport touched French soil.

A yawn tugged at his visage and he rolled his tablet like communicator from his sweat’s pocket. He had lost track of time, but felt pleased that there were no alerts waiting for him on the screen. His officers were giving him some time – although he regretted it took this circumstance to get a break.

Jack pushed the chair until he met the far wall, head bumping back as he looked over his nose. She looked peaceful now, despite being covered with wires and tubes, her blonde hair fell in messy tresses around her face and framed it. Thumbing the switch on the wall behind him, he dimmed the lights in the room and leaned back, lulled to sleep by the stabilized beep of her heart.


	2. ON THE MEND

A nurse opened flower dotted curtains letting soft beams of light flood into a small hospital room. Angela had been moved into the recovery ward of Swiss HQ’s massive facilities about 40 hours after her injury. Nano-bot therapy had helped her bruised lung limp along, and it recovered enough so that she could breathe under her own control again.

The light and commotion roused the Doctor from a state of restless sleep. The general anesthetic seemed to have messed up her ability to rest productively, and her brain just couldn’t shut off. Angela squirmed uncomfortably as the nurse helped raise the bed position so she could sit up. When she could, she requested the nurse fetch a data pad and her digital records so she could review all that had happened during her time under.

Despite her lingering sleepiness, she acknowledged her treatment records and grimaced at the combat injury report. Her team of doctors and healthcare staff had done wonderfully – Overwatch had given her a big enough budget to handpick the best within her jurisdiction, so this didn’t surprise her. But the report had her feeling horribly guilty and a little embarrassed. Had she been even the slightest more exposed, that would have been the end for Dr. Angela Ziegler.

After handing the items back to the nurse she asked for a moment alone. He happily agreed and quickly departed the room, fully aware that the Doctor knew how to notify him if she needed anything at all.

Angela studied the room. Private and comfortable, the colors were muted blue. There was a holo-screen across the room and the quiet murmur of world news emitted from it. Under the pulled curtains were three large vases of bright and wiry looking sunflowers placed on a side table. They were the skinny and cone shaped variety she had only seen grown wild in the aired West of America. The sight of them instantly put a smile on her face, and she wondered who had gifted them.

Next to her bedside were a handful of cards, cards she was frankly surprised to see. Overwatch members got hurt frequently, and it wasn’t certainly out of the ordinary to have to house one of the primary members in her recovery ward now and again. Despite this fact, this _was_ her first internment in intensive care - and it seemed to prompt some well appreciated wishes...

Carefully reaching over, she pinched the first between her fore and middle finger, being extremely careful to not stretch the wrapped wound on her chest. The card was addressed from Fareeha Amari, with signatures and small messages from Ana, Torbjörn and Jack. Quickly drawn hearts in colored pencil covered every inch of the card, no doubt doodled by Ana’s daughter. Angela smiled and felt thankful.

A chuckle was enough to elicit enough tension in her chest that she had to sit back now. Clutching the first card to her chest she searched over the remainder. Upon the table was a card she could see written in German? More than likely from Reinhardt. Next to that was one addressed in the tight and neat cursive of her assistant physician, and across the side table, above the vases, sat a neatly perched card, its folds tucked into a branch of a sunflower with no apparent markings on the envelope.

She thought about the number of people who had probably visited while she was still unconscious and eased her eyes closed. Fatigue was hard to anticipate, and she felt sore. Calculating her recovery and current state, she mused that if sleep seemed able, she would absolutely welcome it...

Her mind drifted and thought about her floral gift, imagined beautiful fields of wild sunflowers along the sweeping roads of Arizona, their yellow glow bathing herself, Gabriel and Jack in bright yellow light as they shared a beer along Route 66. The Swiss native had enjoyed the otherworldly like nature of the deserts of North America during a detour to Watchpoint Grand Mesa. She clung to the evening of fun like a treasured memory.

 _Which one of them brought the similar flowers to her recovery room?_ She seemed to remember hearing Jack’s voice, but with the medications they had given her, it could’ve simply been a hallucination. She determined after her nap she would call them both and get an answer out of Overwatch’s commanders, but, only after her nap.

 

* * *

 

 

She was awoken by a gentle ping. The communicator built into the bedside interface alerted her that it was time for a mandatory meal. The overhead lighting and closed curtains made her aware that her nap had, in fact, lasted all day.

A few moments later a man arrived with a tray and positioned it so the Doctor could eat at leisure. She tentatively poked at the main entree as the hospital employee departed to make the rest of his evening deliveries.

Angela didn’t feel hungry, she felt off. It still struck her persistently interesting to be on the opposite side of patient care, and she allowed this particular amusement to propel her though the chicken and mashed potatoes in front of her. Mid bite, another ping.

The communicator indicated a visitor, and Angela was amused. It was far past visitation hours, a set of hours she herself had defined. Only a handful of individuals could bypass her authority, in her own hospital. She thumbed the button on the communication pad and pipped a, “come in.”

The door opened slowly, and she pushed her meal to the side – suddenly realizing, and very self-conscious about the soft purple hospital issue nightgown she donned. Angela acknowledged her hair must be in a chaotic state as well. She reached up to pat it down as Gabriel pushed through the threshold.

At first her heart dropped, he looked so stern, and her tepid stomach fluttered, expecting she was about to get a lecture. But he stopped to turn and close the door methodically behind him, before approaching the bed with slow intent. He wore his prized olive green hoodie and Blackwatch issued pants, under the partially unzipped top was a low cut black v-neck. He was clean cut and his cologne wafted into her personal space. The welcome sent was a nice change from the dominating antiseptic fragrance of her room.

“Can I sit down?” He shifted his weight to the side, one hand hung from a pants pocket.

“Of course,” Angela moved her blanket covered legs to the side to make room, eyeing the chair next the bed. He wanted to seat himself close to her.

He nestled into the hospital bed, his back pressing into her knees and looked over to her. She was so accustomed to seeing him stern, serious, mad… The sad pull to his lips elicited some curiosity.

“I see the mission was a success,” she broke the silence.

He watched her, “on paper it was.” She felt ashamed and he must have seen it. “How you feeling now Doc?”

Angela looked down, the hospital gown buttoned in the front and the top of it exposed enough of the large bandage on her chest to still look worrying. “The blow damaged my sternum and rib cartilage, but the puncture did not harm any vital organs. My bruised lung has healed and I calculate that I will be back on my feet in a couple of days.” She sounded like she had gone to work, like she was talking about some other patient. That irritated him.

He sighed and rubbed his chin. “They wanted to see if you could be an asset to Blackwatch. Honestly I think our ops are too unpredictable for your talents... I wanted to let you know before the document comes through. I’m requesting you will no longer be assigned to future missions.”

“I understand that.” The shame tugged at her chest and she placed a hand on her bandage. “You and Jack scouted me so long ago to aid in medical research. Expand Overwatch’s usefulness. Maybe I have slowly overstepped my bounds – maybe there’s a limit” She paused and swallowed, but her pride was ebbing through.  
  
She paused, her eyes looked intense with thought. "But, despite all that - I refuse to now sit at HQ,” she looked up, “and watch my friends become hurt or injured without my immediate intervention. Don't pretend this injury is the real reason you are choosing to isolate me.”

Her determination bemused him and he couldn’t help but crack a smirk, looking down a hand itched at his beard - like a nervous habit. “Yeah I know. Heh, you’re a tenacious one Angela. In my years of service, very few have been bat out of the sky like a baseball and act like they want to be thrown back into the game.” He said and waited a moment, looking at her with intent, “just, that game won’t be played with _my boys_ , anymore. End of story.”

She wasn’t so amused. “I assure you a Baseball analogy isn’t hardly appropriate Gabriel.”

“What’s not appropriate is Overwatch’s head Doctor bedded up because she decided she had be the best at everything.” The image of her making the hasty choice replayed in his head, but he saw that comment had a little burn to it and he scrambled to lessen the edge.

The air hung awkwardly. “My full name when you’re angry huh?” He looked over, smirk reemerging. He definitely wasn’t winning at small talk this evening, nor did he find it easy to scold the good Doctor and her pure intentions. He had _really_ just wanted to visit to ensure she was recovering. Wasn’t already on her feet working.

The room was quiet for a moment more. The Doctor was fuming, but she had to convince herself to relax some, they were really all members measured by their usefulness. She admitted that this pickle wasn’t the best one to be in for Overwatch’s head of medical research, lead surgeon, and only support agent.

Angela watched him, when her eyes caught the sunflowers in her periphery. She rushed to change the subject. “So... Was it you or Jack?”

“Huh?” Gabriel turned on the bed, confused by the comment.

She was looking at the flowers that lined the window, he followed the line of her chin. “Oh.” He said.

“I don’t know if that variety even grows on this continent.”

He looked up and bristled. He left the bed quickly and moved to the flowers. His hand snatched the card. “Didn’t get to opening this one yet?”

Angela gestured to herself tucked into the bed as if to protest his comment and Gabriel impatiently tore a corner, pulling a finger through the seam of the envelope. Angela felt offended that he was opening the card without clearly defining the originator. “I can do that part myself!” She reached out a hand, but he continued.

He pulled the simple card from the sleeve and passed it to her outstretched hand. Inside she noted a small message in a rather generic get well format. But from the folded center, fell a small, vintage style matchbook. The cardstock piece had a picture of a rock formation and a Route 66 sign, under that, a phone number and name of a bar. The very bar she had visited with Overwatch's Commanders overseas. The sight of it instantly made her blush when she realized her suspicions were all true.

She glanced over the open card again and noted the lack of a signature. “Is this from you?” A part of her knew it had to have been from his reaction, but she wouldn’t doubt Gabe would hesitate to open something from Jack in the same matter.

He didn’t say anything, just stood with a smirk before making a move to leave.

“Gabriel!” She started, and her face was hot. But he was already at the door, opening it. “Gabe? How did you get these flowers here?”

“Glad you’re feeling better Doc.” His smile was wide as he turned.

“Wait! Gabriel!!!” She craned her head carefully as he left the room, flattered by the gesture and flustered by his quick departure. Gabriel’s favorite thing was to get reactions out of people, she couldn’t place if she could count this as flirting considering all that had happened.

“Verdammt.”

 She squeezed the matchbook into her palm and sat back, exhausted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. ❤


End file.
